


Lion's Garden

by SheOnceToldMe



Category: SheOnceToldMe
Genre: Death, Dream World, Flowers, French Revolution, Gen, Loss, Mother & Daughter - Freeform, Short, Symbolism, Timeless, Virginia Woolf Wannabe, What I tagged this as in the printed version, Woman, daughter - Freeform, parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9300443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheOnceToldMe/pseuds/SheOnceToldMe
Summary: Somewhere old and familiar.Somewhere new and impossible.Reliving the biggest mistake she has ever made.A.K.A A dying mother is asked to forgive her good-natured daughter, a dying woman's temper is tested.





	

You should understand, before anything else, before you dive in, that this is not a tale of morality. That this is not a sad story. There is no purpose to it, no insightful perspective. And your sympathy is not wanted. Your judgement is not asked for, not appreciated, in fact.  
You should take this story for what it is. Take it for what it is meant to be.  
As it takes place in an environment not much different from a glass house. You know. A green house. Just bigger. Just, not real.  
And you. You are just a passer-by.  
Hoping to catch a glance through one of the ironically broken glass plates. Like a breeze, chilling. Only for a second. Go ahead. Take a peak. Listen well. Then move on and walk away. Forget about the story and leave me here for someone else to find. I’ve got time. I don’t mind.  
I’ll just be here. Stuck on repeat. 

***

It was the most peculiar place, almost like a dream world.  
But then again, maybe it was.  
Just that.  
Only a dream world.  
The first thing I truly became aware of was birds.  
The sound of them. Chirping. Distantly. Like a safe, summer morning.  
Like everything was perfectly fine.  
The morons.  
Theirs was the only sound.  
There was no wind. No rustling of the trees.  
No crackling of the pebbles under worn out shoes.  
No startling roars of riots, just around the corner.  
\- Just… the birds.  
It was almost calming.  
Once I got over the unsettling intuition that something had to be wrong, of course. 

* 

The second thing I noticed was the light. Bright.  
Clear. Yellowish. Not end of the tunnel white.  
But not really all that golden eyed orange either.  
A rising sun, while the moon’s still up.  
Outlining everything on the horizon in sharp contrast.  
And all I saw was flowers.  
Endlessly. Everywhere.  
Daffodils.  
Close to me. Leaning back on their stems.  
Ready to attack.  
With majestic beaks like a lion’s head.  
Mighty.  
Dandelions before those.  
In front of them.  
Like the shields they would be holding. 

*

Within this soft glow there was an abundance of orange and yellow.  
But there was purple too.  
Distrusting lavender.  
Anticipating bachelor buttons.  
Fragile anemones.  
And violets for their chastity and young death.  
Blue as well.  
There were flowers I had never seen before.  
Flowers even I could not name.  
Flowers that I was sure could never grow in this time.  
In this place.  
Snowdrops next to nettle.  
The strangest patterned vines.  
But I knew I was in a garden.  
I was in a garden that could not be.

* 

The third thing I noticed was the smell.  
Quite surprising.  
Quickly intruding.  
The smell of rotten flesh.  
Burnt hair. Dried blood. The smell of an old and open wound.  
Gaping and scabbing.  
Sickening.  
That smell was coming from me.  
I lowered my gaze upon myself.  
It was all familiar.  
Bare, brown feet.  
All the same.  
Dirty, work-dead hands.  
Torn clothes that were not mine.  
All so ordinary, not fitting. 

*

The apocalypse is not what you’d expect. 

One ends up wearing the strangest collection of clothing.  
What really threw me off, however,  
where the three crimson holes in the top that clung to my chest.  
Bullet holes.  
With nothing underneath them but these same three bullet holes.  
In my body.

I should have known by then.  
I was dead.  
I am dead.

* 

It makes me wonder now.  
Being robbed of your own child erases your title as a parent.  
But did my death undo my motherhood just the same?  
Or did I lose that position even earlier on?  
No matter.  
For all I was I started walking through the garden of lions.  
My feet stepping through calmingly cold dirt.  
I examined the place passively.  
Trying to discover where I was.  
Trying to understand what was happening.  
Becoming more lost with every new flower I saw.  
Irises.  
Tulips. Pink ones.  
Resembling care.  
It was the only knowledge I managed to hold this confidently.

*

Completely unimportant.  
But I had it. Learned it all from my grandmother as a child.  
And I never let it go.  
My grandparents had this huge garden by their summer home.  
She taught me all their names.  
He taught me how to keep them alive.  
She taught me their language. What they hold.  
And my grandfather made sure that the first place I would get to own,  
had a garden too.  
It was a pointless memory to bear.  
I can see that now.  
Back then I never had to think this far.

*

My mother, of course, bought me my first mansion at eighteen.  
And we made the garden just the same.  
Because we promised them.  
It should’ve been my first step into life.  
Not the last step of it all.  
But I took the wrong path once.  
And Julie brought forever.  
Julie meant the end of my stability.  
I still had everything.  
Then she became the end of my safety.  
I still had my name,  
my pride.  
Until she took those from me too.  
At least it seemed like I had my flowers now. 

*

Elisabeth Juliette Gransonne.  
But that was not the name my daughter used.  
I loved her. I was her mother. I carried her.  
I made her. I raised her. Of course I loved her.  
She was me.  
Except for where she wasn’t me.  
I loved her.  
Except for when I lost her.  
My daughter was nothing like me.  
I sat down under a rhododendron.  
It offered shade. From the still climbing sun.  
The afternoon warmth somehow changed so much.  
With new glows upon branches and less mist between the leaves.  
Allowing a new perspective.  
I had my daughter far too early. 

*

What should’ve been my happy, planned out life,  
that of a married woman, in our families riches,  
became a life shared between the two of us.  
No one knew why she was not me.  
I guess Julie cared too much to belong.  
Julie was too delicate. Too maternal. Too thoughtful.  
She would ask me why she couldn’t go outside anymore.  
She would ask me why the pastor was hanging  
from a branch of some tree by the road.  
Then she stopped asking all at once. 

Why anyone would offer up their deserved peace to help carry wood  
for the illiterate farmer’s boy was beyond me.  
I mean, everyone knew.  
The people had been talking. We all saw them getting worse.  
Still this was their problem to fix. Not ours.

*

We, our families, worked hard to get where we were.  
What we had was our right.  
The riots and the protests I could respect.  
But the attacks and the disgust these towns people held.  
For the bourgeoisie didn’t fit any perspective.  
We just lived.  
It wasn’t us who did the unfair ruling.  
So I held my stance.  
Let it be known that I stood my own.  
Knew how to fight back. And would do so if needed.  
And that was what I did. I fought.  
Julie ran.  
I protected what was mine. And Julie became blind to it.  
The world became a fight between families, at first.  
Then it became a fight between possessions.  
And what they all wanted to take away.

*

My daughter was not a fighter.

A lot less easier than expected I stood up again.  
The muscles in my back ached. My head spun.  
I nearly stumbled into a full grown apple tree that I failed to notice in my vertigo.  
I steadied myself against the tree’s trunk. Held on for a little while.  
Shiny, red fruit tempting me.  
But a lump in my throat clawed ferociously.  
I spotted some fennel and freesia to my right.  
Continued my wandering once more. 

Julie would never be a fighter.  
It’s not in her blood.  
She’s too beautiful. Too feminine.  
Never able to keep her mind at level with her heart. Her too big heart.  
I found some poppies.  
I supposed my heart is, now, full of holes. 

*

I kept on walking.  
And walking.  
Recognizing less and less flowers.  
Remembering more and more.  
I had no concept of time.

I remembered standing there.  
With Michael on my right. Joffrey on and the others behind me.  
We would defend what was ours.  
We were the soldiers. Though we didn’t truly fight or terrorize.  
Until that night.

We were angry. We felt used. Dirty.  
Adrenaline racing through my veins.  
A revolver clutched tightly in my hands.  
A knife, uncomfortably cold, strapped against my leg.

*

We all knew what would happen.  
We all knew who would come.  
It didn’t make it any easier.  
They came out of the back of a carriage.  
Full of hay it was, pulled by horses.  
Immediately, the ones who came, climbed out and lined up.  
Well trained, thoroughly lived.  
Like the lions in my garden.  
Ready for that big and final fight that would decide it all.

Like the innocent dandelions.  
I was marigold.  
And I will never know who got to live their miserable lives.  
Who fled with their tail between their legs.  
Who got lost.

*

Suddenly I could see her again.  
So clearly.  
Yet almost unrecognizable.  
My Julie.

Armed and strong.

Her dark hair tied back.  
Wearing trousers and a big shirt to cover up her ever growing belly.  
My daughter.  
Laughable as it is, my instinct was to scold at her.  
Amidst the rye grass.  
Siding with her new family that wasn’t mine.

She fired first.

She lifted her gun and she aimed.  
Looking right at me.  
My Julie. 

*

I stumbled.  
Couldn’t walk any further.  
Something hurt.  
Everything hurt .  
Blood was flowing everywhere again.  
And I felt it all.  
I fell to my knees.

Right in front of a field of forget-me-nots.  
Blue.  
Everything became silent.

Everything became still.

Everything disappeared .

 

Leaving only these tiny flowers and my pain

*

No.  
I refused.  
I felt my strength sip away.  
Wounds biting.  
But how could they not understand?  
Julie was not my daughter.

I wouldn’t allow it.

I wouldn’t allow it to fade away like that.  
I wouldn’t allow it to fade and blur just like that .  
I couldn’t .

Shit.

I was dying.

Again.

 

And she had never been mine. 

*

**Author's Note:**

> A short story. 
> 
> The printed version is out and real!   
> [ View the free, online version here. ](http://inadragonsmind.tumblr.com/post/156546176127/lions-garden)  
> This published version has pictures that are meant to go with this story,  
> I'm not the best at drawing but it adds to the story which is cool. .  
> Feedback is very welcome  
> Thanks for reading ^,^


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